Chapter Thirty-Nine Tom
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Tom
“You have a lot of explaining to do.”
Zeke looked shell-shocked. Sully was tapping his unlit cigarette on his thigh, staring at me like I’d just pushed a giant red button in a nuclear facility.
It looked bad. I’d known it would. I’d even anticipated the scenario in which Enzo would blow everything up.
He had.
But what killed me even more than our breakup was that he didn’t take the plea deal.
Forcing myself to be as unruffled as one could under the circumstances, I adjusted my expression and sank into my seat.
Time to lie through my teeth and dump two decades of reputation down the shitter for a man who wouldn’t even let me save him.
“I beg to differ. There is nothing to explain,” I began, lacing my fingers together.
“You’ve both been kept up to speed on every detail of the operation.
Zeke—you knew I was working on a plea deal for the younger Ferrante.
I’d already told you he seemed the least violent, most likely to be rehabilitated, and even without his handing over trade secrets, a simple testimony from him would seal the deal.
Sully—you were completely in the loop regarding my plans to use him as bait for the Bratva.
As we know, he is engaged to the baby sister. ”
For the past few weeks, I’d gone to terrifying lengths to find excuses to carve Enzo out of the Camorra operation and grant him immunity without forcing him to betray his clan.
I’d chosen two semi-plausible excuses and wrung them dry.
And, because I’d never been anything less than diligent, vigilant, and morally spotless, everyone around me had reluctantly agreed to play along, citing a rare error of judgment on my end, as opposed to lustful derangement.
“Rothwell, that man over there looked very comfortable pushing you around.” Zeke jerked a thumb in the direction Enzo was taken by police officers a few minutes ago.
Sully snickered, the stench of stale alcohol wafted off his skin.
“How close did you two get while you tried extracting intel?” Zeke asked.
I could recognize a drop of his cum in a three-gallon marinara sauce by taste alone. That close enough for you?
“We shot the shit, downed a few beers, sometimes played poker.” I waved him dismissively. “He felt that we were friends. I already told you, he is very naive. This is why I thought it’d be perfect to single him out.”
A lie chased a lie. I’d stooped frighteningly low in order to save this man.
And I feared that in order to reach my objective, I’d hit many more.
There wasn’t a moment in time in which I’d decided to sacrifice everything to save him.
Rather, it was an instinct. One that overrode my favorite companions—logic and reason.
“What a complete shit show,” Sully announced. “I’m glad he didn’t take the deal. I want him in prison, where he belongs.”
I didn’t know how I found the strength not to strangle Sully for what he said, but I did. Zeke, however, was quiet. Contemplative. He stared at me, fascinated, like he had just worked something out in his brain, and everything was clicking into place.
“Sully,” Zeke said without taking his eyes off me.
“Hmm?”
“Give us some privacy.”
When Sully was gone, Zeke ran a hand over his tie, letting me dwell in the silence in case I had something to confess.
I stuck to my guns. Finally, he said, “Do I need to get you off the Camorra case? It’s not too late, and you will be sure to collect the accolades that will follow when we close it and get your shiny promotion. ”
“I’m my informant’s only point of contact,” I replied dryly. Begging, arguing, and pleading my case would only prove his point that this had become too personal; instead, I gave him a pragmatic reason why he couldn’t keep me away from it. “If I go, this all falls like a house of cards.”
“You do remember, Tom, that I’m the captain of this vessel?” He ducked his head, searching my eyes. “Yours is not the only promotion that’s on the line here. If this becomes a farce, if it goes sideways…”
“It will not,” I said around a lump in my throat.
I hated doing this, especially to Zeke, a man who had believed in me more than anyone else.
A man who’d been determined to be my friend, even when I rejected all other forms of social connections.
A man I trusted on the battlefield with my own life—and vice versa.
“Are you sure?”
“I was the one who insisted we see this case through.” I stubbed my chest with my finger.
“I was the one who fought to get to this moment. I was the one who formed relationships, who spent days and months of surveillance, who studied the Camorra operation inside and out. And I’m the one who is going to execute this mission to the best of my ability.
If you take that away from me, the case falls apart, and you know it.
Sully is an impulsive, angry old drunk. And he’d be the one leading this op if I step aside, if he doesn’t get suspended for nearly punching Enzo.
Whoever you’d pair him with won’t have half the information needed to get the bigger picture. ”
Zeke stared and stared. He stared as a form of interrogation, imploration, coercion. My mouth said all the right words, but my actions had told a different story.
“You need to watch your six.” He folded his arms over his chest. “The Department of Justice is puzzled by the direction you’ve taken with this case.”
“I will,” I promised.
“We’ve been through the trenches together. Brothers in arms. I am your oldest friend,” he reminded me.
“You are.”
“This place, this department, is my legacy.”
“It is.”
“You will not make a fool of me, of us, right, Thomas?”
“I won’t.”
I hoped it wasn’t one lie too many.
Because losing the love of my life and my best friend on the same shift seemed like an unbearable punishment, even to an asshole like me.
After work, I braved the mind-numbing traffic and drove to Staten Island.
Grams took ten minutes to open the door.
Not because she had difficulty walking, those damn cats kept looping around her ankles everywhere she went, like little typhoons.
Finally, she tossed the door open, toeing the felines away.
She took one look at me and sighed. “Oh, darling. He broke your heart.”
“Worse, Grams. I broke his, too.”
She ushered me inside, where I planned to knock back whatever was available and alcoholic and treat myself to a silent mental breakdown.
Unfortunately, my sorry excuse for a life had other plans. Iris and Silas were seated in the living room, enjoying tea and funnel cake. A man I assumed was Joshua was with them. He was blond, lean, on the shorter side, and looked like he could pass as Iris’s brother. Still, they somehow fit.
Silas threw himself at me in a hug, and Joshua stood and shook my hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Iris has told me a lot of great things about you. Thank you for taking care of her.”
A groggy “likewise” was all I could produce.
I scurried to an empty spot on the overcrowded couch and perched on it, regretting the moment I’d thought it’d be a good idea to crash Grams’s house.
For the next twenty minutes, I answered questions with grunts and kept to myself.
Then—thankfully—Iris and Joshua left for a date, and Silas stayed back.
Apparently, he was doing a sleepover here, so Iris and Josh could get some quality time.
Deciding to rise above my misery, I asked Silas if he wanted to throw ball in the backyard.
“Nah, weather’s too cold. Besides, I wanna play Roblox.”
“You can, but only after you brush your teeth, get into your pajamas, and say your prayers.” Grams wagged her finger.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?”
“Grams.”
He went up the stairs to execute her commands, and I was glad to finally have a moment with her.
Grams descended back to her recliner, crocheting with her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. “Go on, then. Tell me what happened.”
“I managed to get him a plea deal. He didn’t take it.
He could’ve freed himself of all of his family’s burdens; he is smart, Grams. He can go to med school.
Finally come out. Be with me. I mean, people would talk at first…
” But I didn’t give a shit. I’d never truly cared what others thought of me.
I did hold myself to certain standards. But since Enzo had entered my life, those hadn’t mattered.
All that mattered was the need to see him thrive, and—secondary to that—to be the person he thrived with.
“Why did he say no?” She sounded way too calm, and that infuriated me. A little empathy went a long fucking way.
“His two brothers would still get locked up. He couldn’t turn his back on them.”
She hummed, nodding to herself. “I see why you like him.”
“He’s being stubborn.”
“No, he’s being loyal. Apathy is a choice often made by cowards. Don’t date a coward, Thomas.”
“Grams, he is going to go to prison for life if I don’t stop this.”
“Then stop it.”
“How can I? He won’t even speak to me.”
“You’re a resourceful man, Tom.” She leaned to pat my knee absentmindedly. “You’ll figure something out.”
“And even if I could stop it, he still won’t ever be with me.”
“Welcome to true love. Commonly seen in the form of parenthood, when one sacrifices their everything for a person without expecting anything back. Contrary to general belief, there are very few true loves between grown people, especially romantically, but they do happen from time to time. The way he reacts to your sacrifice is irrelevant, honey. You should still make it if you truly love him.”
I groaned, digging my fingers into my eye sockets, wondering where he was right now and what he was doing. Was he cold? Uncomfortable? Experiencing the beginning of another flare-up?
We’d barely spent any time together. But for one season in our lives, he belonged to me. I already knew the last few weeks were the highlight of my goddamn existence. Everything from this point on would never compare.
“He has psoriasis. It gets worse when he is stressed.” I moved a hand over my face.
“Better come up with a good plan, fast, how to sink your case, then.”
“I did. He turned it down.”
She shrugged.
“You’ve no idea what lengths I went to get this plea deal. How many fucking—”
“Language.”
“It’s undoable. I can’t fix this.”
“Oh, I disagree. You’re bending your own rules so beautifully. Now it’s time to break them. For him.”
The woman was diabolical. That we were blood related was inconceivable.
“He’s probably going through so much right now,” I groaned.
She hummed to herself, her dainty fingers dancing around the needle so seamlessly, the movements didn’t seem to have a beginning, middle, or an end.
My hands felt heavy in my lap all of a sudden, weighted down by how helpless I was to help him, save him.
“I should’ve never followed Enzo to that club,” I said.
“Enzo. That’s his name?” Grams tasted it on her tongue, stopping her crocheting momentarily to stare at the ceiling, a mysterious smile on her face. “Enzo Rothwell. I like the sound of it.”